The Endling of Lucas
by Muna16
Summary: House/Cuddy - Cuddy has choices to make....


Lisa Cuddy wasn't sure why she was standing outside of the studio apartment that House shared with Wilson, the studio apartment that was supposed to be hers, hers and Lucas's and Rachel's. Wilson had stolen the place from her - he had outbid her in some ridiculous attempt to protect House, or to torture her for House's sake. She remembered how angry she had been when she found out why she had not gotten the place. It had only been a couple of months ago, but so much had happened since then. It felt like years ago.

She carefully placed an errant hair behind her ear, bit her bottom lip, and pressed the doorbell, inhaling deeply. She did not know what she would say, how she would say it, if he would even listen, or if he was even home. She was in such a rush to get to his place, impulsively needing to talk to him, to see him, to thank him - she forgot to see if his car was outside. _What am I doing_, she thought to herself again, pressing the button a second time.

House had been restless after getting home from work this afternoon. He had left early - treating himself for coming up with the winning diagnosis on his latest patient. Even Taub had been impressed with the quickness with which House came up with it - an epiphany without a struggle, without almost losing the patient, without making the patient sicker in order to diagnose him. House had been so proud of himself that he decided to leave early, take the long way home on his bike, and just relax. Once he got home, he immediately regretted leaving early. Sure, paperwork was boring…clinic duty was frustrating. Almost everyone he came in contact with on a daily basis was a total moron. But still, at least at the hospital there was always noise. He could drown his thoughts with the rhythms and sounds. At home, it was a different story.

He had finished catching up on the latest episode of General Hospital and was fumbling with the piano when the doorbell rang. He felt the ring in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure why he knew this, but he was sure that was Cuddy's finger that had pressed the button. He just knew. Maybe it was the way he hadn't seen her at work this week, the way she had clearly been avoiding him. Or maybe it was the way he knew they had so much to say to each other. He limped towards the door slowly, hesitating with every step, and the second ring startled him. He stopped for a moment, took a deep breath, and charged towards the door.

"Oh, you're home," was all Cuddy could muster. She knew she had so much to say, so much to explain, so much to share, but she couldn't form the words. She stood in the doorway, inches from House, smelling his scent, feeling his eyes on hers.

"I thought Wilson was the champion of the obvious, but that puts you at a close second," House snarked, leaving the door open and turning towards the large, open kitchen. He opened the fridge and grabbed a beer for himself, and leaned on the bar.

"What do you want?" he said, trying to sound casual, but knowing he was failing. _This is it_, he thought. _We are going to have "that" talk. The talk we should have had when I got back from Mayfield. The talk that would have kept me from going to Mayfield._ He took a deep breath and silently hoped for the best.

Cuddy took another breath, a deep one, and closed the door behind her. She walked towards the bar, and she stopped about half-way there. She looked around, impressed with the room. "I have to admit, Wilson has good taste," she said, considering her surroundings.

"You came all the way over here to compliment Wilson on the decoration of the place he stole from you?" House asked pointedly, taking a swig from his bottle.

Cuddy turned back towards House, and stepped forward, meeting him on the opposite side of the bar, a slab of cold marble the only thing between them.

"No," Cuddy said quietly, determined to say what she needed to say. "I came over to thank you. I need to thank you for saving my ss with the board. For saving my job."

House turned back towards the fridge and grabbed another bottle, pulling up his shirt to pop the top off with his hands. Cuddy's breath hitched as she caught a glimpse of his abdomen, and was surprised to see the bottle before her. House had understood this was hard for her, and he was trying to reward her for the effort.

"Thanks," she said, taking a quick sip and looking up at him, locking eyes with him again. They were on the same side of the counter now.

Cuddy had taken the first step. She had thanked him. He took another swig of beer and looked at her thoughtfully. "You have saved my ss over and over again for the past 15 years. I figured I owed you one," he said softly.

"But, I have been so cruel to you," she said, her voice shaky.

"Nothing I haven't deserved, Cuddy," he responded, keeping his eyes on her, willing her to keep talking.

_We are talking. We are really talking. We aren't playing games. We aren't trying to hurt each other. Just talking,_ he thought to himself.

Cuddy took another sip then put the bottle on the counter. She ran her fingers through her hair, looked at him tenderly, and said again, "So thanks, House. That's all I wanted to say, thank you." She turned to leave and was at the door when she heard his husky voice.

"You're welcome Cuddy."

She had opened the door and was about to walk out of the apartment when she heard his words. Something about the way he said Cuddy felt like a blow to her chest. She slammed the door shut and doubled over, gasping for air. House limped up behind her, "What's wrong?" he asked, concerned by the sight of her doubled over by the door, grabbing her chest.

Images of the past few months were flying past her, one after the other. Her first visit with House after Mayfield at Wilson's place, House quitting in her office, the conference, the dance, Cindy Lauper's damn voice singing _Time After Time_, the games, the pain, it all flew past her and around her. He was by her now, holding her firmly by the shoulders. "What's wrong?" he asked again, more loudly.

Cuddy was heaving now, she was crying and heaving. Other images were crashing down on her. It was House at the party in college, the infarction, the night she lost Joy, House in her office the day he realized he was hallucinating. She cried harder.

Not knowing what to do or how to help, House went from holding her shoulders firmly to pulling her into a tight hug. He held her as she trembled and cried. He had no idea what had brought it on. He figured this was just another reason they weren't right for each other. Even when he was making the attempt to be nice, to accept her gratitude, to offer her a damn beer, he reduced her to tears.

She could feel his beating heart. It slowed her own breathing and soothed her. When she had finally calmed down she pulled away from House's embrace and wiped her face. He let her go awkwardly and waited patiently for some kind of explanation. He leaned back on the door, blocking her exit, making it clear he expected an answer.

"Sorry," she stammered out quietly, "just hormonal I guess."

House nodded from side to side and looked at her evenly. "You just finished your period, probably four days ago, so don't blame the hormones. You are going to have to do better than that," he added, arrogantly.

Cuddy smiled. _Of course he knows my menstrual cycle. Damnit, he probably knows what I had for breakfast and when the last time was that I had sex._

"Okay," she started, figuring House deserved to know the truth. "It's just, knowing you did this, knowing you went out of your way to help me, to save my job - it made me see other things, things I haven't been seeing."

House took a step towards her, sensing her guard was down, and he touched her cheek with his thumb. "Like what?" he asked, both curious and afraid of the answer. He sensed that things were headed in the right direction, but he also knew that he was not a good judge of when things were right or wrong with Cuddy.

"Like," she said, looking up at him, doing her best to absorb his gaze, "like the fact that I was wrong about some things," she admitted, hesitating with each word.

House smiled. "Some things? Like what? The fact that clinic duty would humanize me? Your assumption that Wilson is a good guy who would never do anything to hurt you?"

"You…I've been wrong about you."

House chuckled. His hand moved from her cheek to her hair. He leaned in a little closer. "No, Cuddy. You haven't been wrong about me. I _am_ a narcissistic ss."

Now it was her turn to move. She leaned in to his touch and said softly but confidently, "But, you were a cheerleader in college."

_Sh*t_, House thought. _This is it. She can see me, the whole me, more than the narcissistic ss._

"Yes," he said, closing the space between them as he brushed his lips across hers. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. _Yes,_ she thought to herself. _I see him now. I see him._ She lunged forward and wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling his mouth to hers. She opened her mouth and looked for his tongue with hers. She pushed him against the door and deepened the kiss as she wildly ran her hands through his hair. For his part House had been taken by surprise by her hunger. He couldn't believe this was happening. He was holding her, running his hands over her back, accepting her tongue and inhaling her smell, her intoxicating smell. _This is really happening,_ he thought.

Then suddenly, an image went through his mind. The image made him pull away from Cuddy's attack. He pushed her away from him, grabbing her arms and removing them from his head, making some space between them quickly.

"What?" she said, red from the blood that had rushed to her cheeks.

He couldn't shake the image. He was on the rooftop with Stacy. Then he was on Lydia's porch. He wasn't good enough.

Cuddy could tell he was somewhere else. He was breathing unevenly, disheveled form their embrace, shocked by his own reaction. She had felt his tongue in her mouth and it had felt warm and right. Everything was far from right now. He looked spooked. He looked eerily like he had looked in her office that last day before Mayfield when he had dropped the bottle of Vicodin.

"House," she said softly, afraid the passionate kiss they had just shared was not the beginning of something but the end. He was looking down, avoiding her eyes. Cuddy didn't know what had happened, or what had caused him to recoil and bring up the walls, but she knew she was not going to give up on him, on this, when they had just come so close. She saw him now. She saw he was worth fighting for. She saw he was worth being vulnerable for.

She stepped forward, mustering all of the bravery in her body. She held his chin and forced him to look at her. When their eyes met, she saw it. She saw the fear. She saw the self-loathing. She took another step and pulled him into an embrace. She hugged him tightly, and whispered softly into his ear, "He moved out last week. I broke it off. It's over."

House pulled back and looked at her gently, as if to confirm the words he had just heard were not a hallucination. Cuddy understood, and she nodded. Her hands were still around his neck. She waited for him to absorb her words and what they meant. She was not going to push him. She hoped the walls would come down. She hoped they could still have a chance. But she knew not to push it. She knew not to push him. If she had learned anything last year it is that he could not be pushed.

But luckily for Cuddy, he processed her words quickly, and he grabbed her hard and had her turned into the door herself as he ravished her with his tongue and pressed his body into hers. He was scraping her neck gently with his teeth when Cuddy said, "He said to tell you it isn't about who gets there first."

House smiled, proud of the challenges both he and Cuddy had overcome to get to this point. Then he dove into her mouth, looking for the back of her throat with his tongue.


End file.
